Her Passionate Plan B. Dixie Browning
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Название: Her Passionate Plan B
Автор: Dixie Browning
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
isbn: 9781472037176
isbn:
Amused, Kell considered telling her about his fifteen minutes of fame. It was more like five seasons, three of them going into play-offs, but that might sound like bragging. He had a feeling the lady would not be impressed.
Idly, he wondered what it would take to impress her.
Determined to show him around and get rid of him, Daisy popped open one door after another on the second floor, allowing him to peer inside before she hurried him down the hall. With all her heart she wished that the stranger she’d first seen this morning looked less impressive at closer range. He was setting off alarms in parts of her body that had been peacefully dormant for years.
“They’re all furnished more or less alike,” she told him, keeping her tone impersonal. They had vacuumed about half the rooms and replaced the dust covers. Reaching a door at the far end of the hall, she popped it open and then started to close it, having had about all she could take for one day. Before she could pull the door shut again, the man who said his name was Magee brushed past her. Intensely aware of the scent of leather, aftershave and healthy male skin, she wished she’d had time to shower and change into something fresher.
No, she didn’t! Of course she didn’t!
The small room was lit only by light that fell through a west-facing dormer. Not bothering to switch on the overhead fixture, she said briskly, “There’s nothing of interest here, so if you’re ready?”
Instead of backing out, he stepped into the room. “Hey, my mama had one of those things back in Oklahoma,” he exclaimed, sounding as if the fact that the Snows and the Magees had something in common proved his case beyond a doubt.
The article in question was a treadle sewing machine, its shiny black head gleaming with gilt scrollwork. Surrendering to the inevitable, Daisy moved inside the small room. The sooner his curiosity was satisfied, the sooner he’d leave. She said, “I believe Mr. Snow’s mother used this as a sewing room. I don’t think it’s been used for anything else since then, except maybe for storage.” Did sewing machines count as personal property or furniture? She’d have to ask Egbert. “Are you ready?” She would have tapped her foot to illustrate her impatience, only she lacked the energy.
“Those boxes, what do you suppose is in them?”
Oh, shoot. She’d forgotten those. “Probably fabrics. Maybe mending that never got done.” And because she was physically exhausted and emotionally stressed, the poignancy of the whole situation suddenly struck her. She could picture it, even though she had seen nothing like it in her entire life: a pile of clothes—shirts and small overalls—stacked beside the sewing machine, waiting for patches to be sewn on and seams to be stitched up.
She didn’t need this, she really didn’t. She had never even known Harvey’s mother. Couldn’t remember his even mentioning the woman.
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